


The Path is Never Straight

by sturmfreii



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mostly fluff though, also for mentions of bodily dysphoria, and his relatioship with it yknow, i love the back and forth between these two, its not the focus but its there bc im trash, kinda gay but not super explicit?? not sure how to label this one, that and genjis body is so interesting to me, warnings for mental breakdown and some dissociation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturmfreii/pseuds/sturmfreii
Summary: Genji Shimada follows the road to self-acceptance with the help of Zenyatta, his first year under the Shambali’s care already under his belt–but he still has much to learn.[ A piece experimenting with Post!Blackwatch and Pre!Current Canon Genji, and his relationship with Zenyatta ]





	The Path is Never Straight

**Author's Note:**

> Quietly revives my AO3 in the background. 
> 
> Hey! Long time no see--lost momentum for awhile there, but then Genji Shimada happened, which it spiraled into this 6k mental-health related ficlet. I haven't seen a lot of people try to tackle Post!Blackwatch but Pre!Current canon Genji, where he'd still be in limbo with himself, so... here's my attempt at that. 
> 
> Might I also add! If /any/ of this is misrepresented, or inappropriately represented and respected, then please, tell me: I wish to be respectful and mindful at all times. Enjoy.

* * *

 

Genji notices it the moment he wakes up.

Numbness, deeply embedded in his core. He feels the weight of it press against chest, heavy and unyielding even as he tries to move. Pin-pricks of sensation bristle his sensors, the cyborg shifting with a displeased sound. 

_I thought I had left this behind._

Funny, how some things never truly left him. 

It always started in his chest, the numbness reminding the cyborg of a limb falling asleep, the static-like sensation that bristled his sensors his body’s attempts at waking up.

Problem is, his chest doesn’t wake–and it spreads, flooding his sensors with excess stimuli until he could no longer register anything around him, locking him in his own body.

_No, not today. Take it slow._

Genji closes his eyes, taking slow breaths as he calls upon one of many teachings;  _“Ground yourself in the moment, try to bring your focus to what is around you when you feel it happen.”_  

It takes a moment, but his sensors finish calibrating, fully registering the cold embedded in his prosthetics. That’s one thing. His fingers drift off the sides of his mattress, soon touching wood (another), then something smooth and icy--his visor (a third). 

Reluctant, he opens his eyes, much sharper and faster to adjust to his surroundings than a humans. 

A dark brown ceiling, sunlight carving black lines and cuts into the wood. Bare, tan mattress. A small table with candles on either side of a color worn photograph. A sword stand, a desk with a pile of books, paper littering the surface.

He sighs. Still numb, but less.  

_Well done, Genji._

Dawn crests the Nepal mountains, the cyborg pulling himself from his mattress to prop it back up against the wall. His hand finds his blade without trouble, his visor clicked into place as he makes his way outside. 

It stiill happens, sometimes; its something the Shimada grew well antiquated with in Blackwatch, Mercy having described it as “bodily dysphoria.” 

 _“Your body needs to adjust to itself,”_ She had explained, her voice low and worn from fatigue she failed to acknowledge,  _“Everything may be healed and functional, but… your body may attempt to reject the cybernetics, Genji–feel there is something wrong, or it does not belong, when there isn’t. I can’t say how your body might react.”_

In the end, his body had become a stubborn child, nigh unpredictable; there were days his cybernetics worked as intended, seamlessly integrated with what little organics he had left–-and then days like these.

Days his body was in limbo, unable to accept what it now was as it struggled to find what was already gone, constantly calibrating itself in an effort to place itself back into the world.

It wasn’t until he had wandered the world for years consumed by his anger, loathing his body, that he found the Monastery. 

Found Zenyatta. 

The Dragon blade rests heavy in the Shimada’s grip, his limbs not quite moving how he wants them to as he carries himself through morning practice. He follows the motions hes memorized since he was nineteen, body flowing from one end of the training ground to the other like it was a dance, practiced to perfection.

Yet, as Mercy had said–absolutely _nothing_ felt right. He pauses, aligns himself, and attempts to carry it all through again. Its the same as its always been, like flowing water down a river, but he can’t shake the feeling that he mis-stepped, that a stone had cut off the flow.

 _Don’t think too hard about it_ , Genji tells himself, swinging his blade hard through the air with an audible hiss, _Flow_. He does, motions fluid and blade an extension of his own body; a perfect execution, and yet, he can’t shake the unease of _something_ out of alignment. A disconnected nerve? A broken vent, some rust?

_You are better than this, Genji Shimada._

Genji carries himself through his practice a few more times before leaving, dissatisfied. The tightness in his chest is a near throbbing presence as he makes his way to the sanctuary for morning meditation. 

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t leave him. 

Of course it doesn’t. Meditation leaves him just as restless as he feared it would, his thoughts unable to pull themselves inward and settle as his chest grows heavier. It worsens with each breath, his chest prickling with a sharp numbness as he tries to level his breathing. 

 _Why can’t I do it? I thought I got the hang of it by now._ Beneath his visor, he frowns, eyes closed tight. _Don’t get caught up in your own head, Genji, just breathe and–_

“Is something wrong, my student?” Zenyatta’s cautious tone drifts from his left, pulling Genji from his thoughts, “You seem restless.” 

Caught, Genji shifts in his seat, a low sigh escaping him. “No, Master,” he says “I will be fine. I did not do as well as I would have liked during my own training this morning, and I am eager to fix that.” 

Lies, all lies–he wants to be able to meditate, to fill his thoughts and company with the warmth of the sanctuary and Zenyatta’s stable presence beside him. He wants to think of everything and nothing, free of this emptiness. 

“I see.” Zenyatta straightens his back, his forehead array luminous in the warm orange light of the sanctuary, “I will not hold you here if doing something else may benefit you, Genji.” His head turns, the way the light gleam off his face plate momentarily silencing Genji’s thoughts. “Though, I wish to meditate with you properly in the evening, Genji.” 

Genji is quick to rise, momentarily bowing towards his teacher. “Of course, Master–I would be glad to meditate with you then. Thank you.” 

He does not have to look back to know Zenyatta is humming in reply, the sound warm and soothing as it echoes in the chamber around him. 

Its a sound he’s begun to grow quite fond of. 

 

* * *

 

His second attempt at training comes up just as fruitless as the first. 

Genji figured it would, yet he tried again–a foolish hope that somehow, somewhere, he will find his error, and all will be right again. All he gains is a loss of time and a dull throb in his core.

The numbness spread down in his arms, down his torso towards his hips by the time he makes his way across the Monastery, his thoughts pulling back to another teaching. 

_“To focus on an issue does not always solve the issue–sometimes you must take a moment to step away from it entirely, and return with a fresh mind.”_

And he does. 

He offers his services to practically anyone he can find, lugging large singing bowls and scrolls of sacred text from room to room. He clears snow from the temple stairs, washes clothes and banners and leaves them in the sun to dry. Anything and everything to keep his mind and his body occupied. 

A temporary solution he fools himself into thinking works. When all the work is depleted, and he is left to his own means, he finds himself back where he started: numbness, disquietude and all. 

And it _angers_ him. 

It angers him as every vital teaching of Zenyatta’s slips through his fingers, all but useless in his efforts to quell the dysphoria, the numbness already having invaded his limbs all the way down to his fingertips. 

Genji carries himself through his fifth trip circling the small space of his room, the mountains outside looming as he moves, never stopping, never looking up.

He wrings his hands together in an effort to cling to what sensation he can, the friction of his hands sending nigh painful jolts of static through his sensors–like his entire body had fallen asleep. 

 _I thought I was better than this_ , Genji seethes, flinching at the jolt of sensation in his palms as he squeezes them, _It’s been years since Overwatch rebuilt me, yet it’s still happening. Why? Why does this keep happening?_

The cyborg stills, his hands firmly clasped as he struggles to level his thoughts, his breath shaky.

 _Nothing’s working._ he breathes in, slowly, closing his eyes as his body tingles sharply, his chest feeling tight and empty, _Why isn’t anything working?_

It wasn’t happening, for awhile. 

He had been making _progress_ , that was what hurt him the most. 

Genji Shimada, for the first time in years, finally felt he had begun to try and accept what he was–his dual nature, his body no longer something othered and foreign to himself: it was _his_ , and that was _okay_.

Days like these had become so few, _manageable_ even, with Zenyatta’s guidance.

Now look at him. 

How easily his own thoughts gave to temptation, his soul burning with the desire for a human body he longer had–of flesh and bone with muscles that ached from the strain of a good training session, that sweated in the heat and made his clothes stick to his back. 

_No, don’t think about it._

Only he does.

He thinks of the warm sensation of fingertips on his human skin, the fire that rose within him when suitors splayed themselves before him in confidence, or palmed at him just right. He misses the warmth of his skin pressed up against another’s, and the heat of pleasure that came from good sex. The Shimadas had at least blessed him with the looks and the money to get it.

Hanzo took even that from him, in the end.

 _He didn’t_. Genji argues with himself, a frustrated growl coming low from his chest. _He didn’t–I am still whole. I am different but that does not mean I am no longer human_. 

Yet this body didn’t belong to him, and it knew it.

Clumsily, the Shimada reaches out to feel his blade, his sensors registering nothing but the continuous prickling of excess energy, filling his brain with it like a static television. _This is my body. This is my room. I am here. I am whole_.

He fights to keep himself grounded, feeling static as sinks to the floor. Static when he thinks of the meditation session he missed–the meditation session with Zenyatta, who currently knows nothing of this–static filling his not-real lungs and making his not-real heart tingle in his chest. Static, static, static.

“No.” Genji pulls at the visor on his face, the familiar click and hiss of steam briefly registering in his ears as he throws it to the floor, “No, no.” he takes another deep lung-full of air, his insides hollowed out. He could feel his heart–no, his core?–the static igniting his anger. “I am fine.”

The lower half of his helmet joins his visor upon the floor, his body beginning to shake as his hands run over the smooth, black synthetic mesh over his nose and mouth . “I am fine.” he says again, his breath shaky as he tries to feel the distinct separation of synthetic and human flesh beneath his sensors. “I-I am _fine_.”

It always came to this. Where he feels his body begin to crumble in his hands as he loses his grip, trembling and shaking and completely _terrified_ of what’s to come, even with all the preparation in the world. “I’m _fi–ne_ …” he feels his voice break, every part of his face foreign to himself beneath his hands.

His skin–where is his skin? Fear surges through him when he fails to feel where his skin begins and the foreign body he sits in ends, everything feeling the same; wrong, wrong, wrong.

There’s nothing left of him, he can’t feel it–every inch of him is machine, his human soul screaming raw.

 

 

Everything caves.

 

* * *

 

"…–ji…!”

It subsides.

Slow, at first. Like ebbing out of a dream and easing into a reality he was just waking up to, with none of the tiredness.

Instead, he feels worn, as if he was a piece of taffy that had been overworked and left to hang on its hook. The ache in his chest is deep, his mind only now registering the tension still held in his limbs.

He takes the first deep breath he can manage, the residual tension of his synthetic muscles and the cold on his face grounding sensations he immediately tries to cling to. They slip from his hands far too quickly to utilize. 

“…Genji…?”

 _Master,_ he wants to ask, _Is that you?_

“… I-I–” Genji hates the way his voice breaks up raw in his throat. His thoughts feel heavy, coming in all at once yet completely void. _Can’t think_.

It’s Zenyatta’s voice. Talking, yet he can’t figure out what his Master’s hands were doing, the orbs rapidly spinning around them disorienting. His sensors were still overloaded, body desperate in its attempt to ground him; all in one ear, out the other.

Genji barely notices the groan that escapes him.

“Genji?” Zenyatta’s voice again–was that panic in his voice?

 _I can’t think_. Genji shakes his head, palms digging into his eyes.

He doesn’t catch what Zenyatta says. He keeps his hands in place and breathes in deep. Again, his thoughts pull to the steady pulse of his heart, unconsciously counting the beats that ricocheted in his skull as the seconds tick by. _The heart of a man still beats inside me._

It takes time. He half believes it won’t work, not when every attempt before had turned up empty handed.

Slowly, everything steadies.

Before him, Zenyatta rests on his knees–his lithe form all hard cuts and sharp angles in the lowering light of the sun. All nine of his forehead lights were dark, just beginning to flicker in nonsensical patterns. His form shifts, face plate all soft curves and warmth in the orange of the sun as it tilts. Around the back of him, Genji notices the slowed rotation of his mala.

“Genji?” uncertainty edges into Zenyatta’s voice, Genji notices the tension in the way his Master moves.

 _Can’t talk_. He wants to, he _does_ , but he feels drained of all the strength left in him. Slowly, carefully, he manages to nod. He wonders if he looks like a bobble head with a weight attached to the back, all tension and slack in the wrong places.

“Genji…” relief floods Zenyatta’s tone, the cyborg sure he would see a smile spread on his face, if he had one, “Are you alright, my student?”

 _Not even close_ , he thinks, _Does feeling half dead count?_ Genji opts for a shrug, his gaze pulling down towards the floor. The orbs rotation began to dizzy him.

“That is alright. Take your time.” the monk’s voice felt soothing to his ears, a calm and steady lifeline. Genji finds himself clinging to the sound, focusing on the nuances of that synthetic, yet wonderfully soothing voice.

 _My head feels heavy_. Again, the bobble head comes to his thoughts, this time with a full size dumbbell crushing its tiny little head to its chest. _Yeah, that feels a lot more accurate_.

He forces himself to look up and take stock of his surroundings, catching Zenyatta’s carefully tensing form in the corner of his eye. Incredibly human, for a being so vastly different from one…

One hand raised, he manages to point towards his bed.

Zenyatta catches on fast. “Can you stand?” he asks, “Take my hands.”

Genji hates to admit how much effort it takes to even adjust his seat on the floor, the sensation reminding Genji of his first days adjusting to his new body; a newborn calf discovering its body, all mass and dead weight with no control over it.

He rests his palms against Zenyatta’s, the Shimada drawing his legs underneath him to pull himself to stand. He teeters, barely catching Zenyatta’s hurried _“Careful, my student–”_ as he cautiously reacquaints himself with his own limbs. For a fleeting moment, Genji is thankful for the omnic's strength, so easily hidden in such a thin metal frame. It’s with his firm grasp and gentle pull that Genji manages to stand. 

“Well done, Genji.” the monk praises, his voice golden as it soothes the cyborg’s core. Genji always found his Master’s praise to be the highest, something hard earned and equally rewarding. Even if all he did was stand on his own two feet. “This way, now.”

Like a dance, they take cautions steps across the small space, hands held tight. Genji focuses on his hands and his feet, the firmness of Zenyatta’s hold grounding him with each advancement. Strength steadily returns to his feet, easing into his calves and his thighs as he moves, the warm hum of approval from Zenyatta filling the Shimada with confidence.

And then it’s over, their hands parted as the omnic pulls away to lower the bed from its perch against the wall, like a routine. Its fleeting, brief, but his firm grip returns, helping ease Genji to sit upon the mattress. 

 _How many of these have I bared alone?_ Genji lays back, his Master’s frame shifting in and out of his focus as he watches lazily, _How many times had I hid myself from the world, thinking it was best not to let anyone see… before him?_

Instead, he watches Zenyatta string him back together, picking up the strewn pieces of his visor from the floor to set them on his desk. 

“Genji,” The omnic hesitates before speaking, “Do you wish to rest?” 

A nod.

“Alright. I will leave you to rest, I will be close by in case you need me.”

Leave. Quickly, Genji shakes his head, earning a curious tilt of the head from the other. _No, don’t leave,_ he wants to say, _yearns_ to say, _Please. Please don’t leave. I do not wish to deal with this alone._

Genji tries. “Stay?” the sound feels wrong in his throat, but it’s enough to be his voice.

The orbs about Zenyatta’s neck make a steady, fleeting rotation. He crosses the space, easing himself to sit upon the floor beside his student. Gently, his body rises from the ground, lifting several inches into the air. One by one, his orbs begin to chime, rising and falling with a unique warm tone as they orbited him.

“Then, I shall not leave your side, Genji.” the monk says simply, “I shall be here until you wake up.”

“Okay…”

It isn’t long after he directs his gaze to the ceiling that Genji drifts to the chiming of the orbs, its melody swallowing him whole.

 

* * *

 

Zenyatta kept his promise.

Its more than relief that fills Genji’s core when he sees that all familiar frame still resting beside his bed; it’s flattery. Flattery that Zenyatta had never left his side, and had respected his seemingly childish request as he would any other. When even was the last time he had asked–in this case, almost _begged_ –someone to stay by his side?

Embarrassment comes like a breeze, tickling his sensors before a swift departure. He has no reason to feel embarrassment, he had broken down; this wasn’t the first time he had done such a thing. It was almost nostalgic, in an unsettling way.

And yet, this time had been very different from the times he was alone; Zenyatta’s teachings had kept the dissociation between man and machine at bay, for awhile. _Controlled_ , even. _I suppose it is something I simply cannot control_ , he thinks to himself, _Even with my Master’s teachings_.

Carefully, Genji sits himself upright, using the heel of his palm to rub at his eyes. His head swims with the telltale signs of crying, scarred skin puffy against the sensors in his fingertips. A steady pinch to his brow, followed by a low sigh. Had he cried during all that? He could barely remember.

A quick glance out his window reveals that it was nightfall–a sliver of moon hanging low from the sky, just about to dip away under the horizon to give way for the sun. His room was dark, no candles having been lit, his eyes easily adjusting for the night time.

Zenyatta was no longer floating, his back propped against the wall, head bowed low as the orbs lay dormant in his lap. _He must be hibernating_. Genji is careful not to disturb the resting frame, unable to help the soft _pat-pat_ of his feet as he retrieves his visor and his helmet.

He’s done enough sleeping, his body requiring far less of it than he used to; he opts to meditate, instead. 

Several more cautious steps about the room allow him to retrieve a floor cushion and his candles, the Shimada making his way out the other side of his room to the wooden balcony.

Wordlessly, the mountains greet him as they always do, the wood beneath his feet creaking as he kneels. In the moonlight, the mountains rise sharply, cutting through the dark in geometric shapes glowing in soft white; resilient, powerful and unquestioning–all things Genji of the past had desperately needed.

Heat tickles the sensors in the cyborg’s fingertips as he lights each candle, a welcome contrast to the cool air around him as the wood creaks to his weight. He places the pieces to his visor beside him, easing to sit lotus style upon the cushion. Before long, he feels the tension in his limbs begin to fade, the familiarity of the night easing into his systems.

Morning was on its way. In his earliest days at the Monastery, he had grown well acquainted with the rise and the fall of the sun, unable to bring himself to calm. He lets his focus rest there, to how long it has been since those days, and sighs. _I have come a long way since then_.

And yet, it wasn’t enough, was it? He still broke down. Shame licks at his core, the sensation of a frown flickering under black mesh features. He was healing, yet moments like before made him feel he was dragged back to the starting line of the race–square one, having to twice as hard fight to get back to where he had been.

 _Will it ever go away?_ he wonders, his fingers intertwining in his lap as he sighs, _Will I ever feel whole, and never let it pull me down?_

“Genji?”

Genji lifts his head, his head turning to catch sight of Zenyatta’s frame settling beside him in the darkness. His forehead array was dim, the nine blue lights a cool and gentle glow that did not overpower the sight of his face plate. His nine mala were not with him.

“Master, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Genji apologizes, concern bubbling within him.

A soft laugh emits from his left. “It is alright, my student. I had meant to stay awake until you had woken up, but I was in need of a hibernation cycle–I made it as brief as I could.” Zenyatta confesses, his tone light.

“Brief?” the ninja echoes the word, turning the words over in his mind, “Master, if you needed to hibernate, you should have done so fully. You did not have to stay up for me!”

“Oh, but,” comes the considering sound to his left, on the edge of teasing, “I _wanted_ to.”

Genji falls silent, his gaze lowering to his hands in his lap. 

“I wished to be awake in case you needed me, Genji. I know my limits, and took the necessary steps to make sure I was rested enough, if you are worried about that.” Zenyatta explains, “I was more concerned for _you_ than anything.”

Again, flattery floods Genji’s systems, and he has to wonder–what on earth did he do, to be blessed with the opportunity to meet someone so… _genuine_ , so _lovely_? His core blooms with warmth at the thought, sinks into his systems like sunlight. “Thank you, Master.”

The monk gives a satisfactory hum, before he asks, “How are you feeling now, my student?”

“Worn.” Genji says all too quickly, “But… better.”

The giggle that escapes Zenyatta is a sound Genji realizes he loves to hear. “Considering you have trained double the amount you usually do, and then this…” Zenyatta remarks, his tone playful, “I would be very impressed if you did not feel worn out, Genji.”

“Ahh, but maybe I am starting to get old, Master.” Genji confesses with a soft chuckle, “I used to be able to train most of the day, before growing worn.”

“If you are getting old now, then I am no longer as youthful and carefree as I thought myself to be.” comes a warm retort, smile clear in Zenyatta’s tone.

“Master, you are fifteen years younger than me–”

“I have lost my youth, Genji! Old age is but on the horizon…”

“–I was already a  _teenager_ by the time you were made!”

His Master’s laughter bubbles up into the air effortlessly, filling the space between them. He barely notices his own tired laughter joining in, a sound a year or so prior he thought he’d never hear again.

All because of this single omnic–this single soul sitting beside him.

 _What have I done in my life, to gain something like this?_ Ah, the thought comes before Genji can help himself, eyes closing as he soaks in the Nepali night air. _And yet…_

And yet, there he was; his body begging for what once was with nothing fully human to return to. Zenyatta had given him much, lead him on the path to recovery–to self-enlightenment–and he fallen right back to the starting line.

“Genji, is something troubling you?” too quick, always too quick to sense something amiss–Zenyatta’s faceplate looking right at him, his forehead array flickering in the darkness.

This time, Genji relents. “I… thought I had been making progress, Master.” he admits, more to himself than to the omnic, “I found myself longing for the past less and less, instead waking up to look to the present… and, even a future, sometimes.” the admission garners flicker of a smile in his eyes.

“I felt I had even begun to grow used to this body. It did not bother me as often as it did before, the discomfort it had brought me less frequent with your teachings in mind. And yet… and yet I’m back here.”

Genji shakes his head, sighing “Right back where I started. I had thought that I was beyond all of this… the discomfort, the dysphoria, your teachings easing my body and my soul when it grew difficult for me, but–here it is again.” he lets out a chuckle, low and weary.

“I have had episodes since I have stayed here, but none were as bad as that… not since I agreed to stay here as your student. I followed all of your teachings, yet nothing worked–it only brought me more _frustration_ , until I could no longer do or feel _anything_ with this body.” Genji turns back towards his Master, yet could not lift his gaze to stare at him direction. “It…it felt like none of your teachings mattered in that moment, like no time had truly passed since I’ve stayed. Just another relapse, until the next one.”

Falling silent, the two sit in the darkness, the candles beginning to drip their wax into the tiny tray below them. An unspoken comfort of confessed thoughts and feelings, the weight between them from the day less palpable in this moment.

Genji thinks he would not mind if this is the moment he was to spend eternity.

“You have undone no progress, my student.”

Zenyatta’s voice pulls the Shimada from his thoughts, taken aback.

“Master–?”

“You have lost nothing, Genji,” Zenyatta says again, more firmly as he turns himself to completely face his student, “You made an effort to follow my teachings–you put up a fight. You did not reject my aide, and you have spoken freely of how you feel and your emotions.”

The monk reaches forward, a momentary glance at his student before receiving a nod of consent. He rests his hand against his student’s knee.

“Even _this_. You have healed so much in the last year and a half, and have fought well and hard for it–I could not be more proud of your progress, Genji.”

How easily, such high praises come from Zenyatta’s voice with such genuine warmth and joy–so human, yet so uniquely his own.

Flattery burrows its way into Genji’s chest; he feels the sensation of a smile still buried in his neural pathways, beneath the black synthetic mesh.

“I–thank you, Master…” his admission comes softer than intended, shoulders giving a sheepish shrug as his smile seeps into his voice, “It’s… all because of your guidance.”

Immediately, the monk shakes his head, his grip on Genji’s knee growing firm. “I may have nudged you on the right path, and given you tools to help, but you have made the progress you have because of your own volition, Genji.”

He pulls his hand away, Genji momentarily mourning the loss of contact as Zenyatta continues, “To fall does not mean to fail; recovery is never linear, my student, it comes with its ups and its down, but it is the moments you have pulled yourself back up, done what you could to stay on the path to heal that are important.”

“Do not be discouraged when these moments happen, Genji; as long as you continue to get back on your feet, you have lost nothing. You have learned much, but you have much still to go.”  

Slowly, the cyborg breathes, the last of the tension in his form giving way as he begins to hunch forward. He lets Zenyatta’s words run over him, sink deep into his systems. _What have I done, to deserve him?_

“I…” a thought comes, and Genji is quick to discard it. He tries again. “I–Master… why are you so determined to help me?”

For a moment, he fears Zenyatta won’t give him an answer–the pause after his question beginning to stretch on moments too long when he gets his answer.

“Because you are one of my dearest friends,” Zenyatta admits, softly, “And I wish to see you healed.”

Friend. It echoes in Genji’s mind, a word already well associated with his Master in his thoughts, and yet–it lacked. It carried the right emotion, but it wasn’t strong enough; a sensation deep within the cyborg’s chest that _blooms_ when he shares Zenyatta’s company. Like the touch of the Iris, golden and beautiful and whole, something that fills him and gives him a sense of completeness.

“But I was not always your friend, Master.” Genji remarks, comfortably settled in the newfound sensation within him.

“No, we were not always friends, but… I care for you, Genji. ” Zenyatta falls quiet, his words spoken with consideration to their weight, “At first, I simply wished to help ease the disquiet of your soul, for I was there and you were in need my help. As I have grown to know you, I have wanted to see you grow, and wish to see what you will become, for I care for your well-being.”

It dawns on Genji the moment its said, the same sentiments echoing within him. _I care for him_. Zenyatta was more than a teacher, but an irreplaceable friend–their banter so easily passed back and forth between them, both eager to learn and explore and wish to be held down by no one.

In his youth, Genji had many acquaintances; all flushed faces and naked bodies on silken bed sheets with loud parties and alcohol as their common ground. People he knew the dip of their hips better than he did their names, Genji nothing more to them than money and title and good sex.

All Shimada Genji, but never _Genji_.

Rarely anyone wanted just that. Zenyatta is one of the few that has, and allowed it to grow and flourish. He _cares_.

“I care for you too,” how easily it comes, the words flowing out of Genji like they were always meant to be spoken, “Not simply because of the gift you have given me, but… because you really are incredible, Zenyatta.”

Such a soft sound a surprise escaping the monk only encourages Genji, the male turning himself in his seat to face his Master directly.

“You are! I mean–you are wise, but witty. You are powerful yet docile, considerate of others and their space and graceful as you are prone to mistake. You’re quirky and so different than the other monks, and it amazes me. That you are an omnic, and possess more sense of self than many humans do. I greatly enjoy your company.”

 _I’m rambling, shit_. The thought sharp as Genji stops himself. He quickly averts his gaze back to the mountains (did they always have that many peaks? He swore there were less) as he falls quiet. 

Zenyatta’s fans cut into the quiet, a soft whir as gentle laughter escapes the omnic, far lighter and softer than before. “You’ve really thought all that of me?” he asks.

Quickly, Genji nods.

“Ah, well–” Zenyatta pauses with a laugh, as if collecting himself, his forehead array flickering nonsensical patterns, “Thank you, Genji… I  believe you don’t realize how incredible you are yourself.”

Now Genji is the one to freeze up. He laughs, nervously, unsure if he is ready to have the attention drawn back to himself. “Master…”

“It is true,” the monk returns, quick to the uptake, “I only hope that you continue to explore yourself while you are here, for I am eager to see what you will become.”

 _I am, too,_ Genji thinks. He thinks back to his earlier confession, thinking ahead to a tomorrow where he is fully healed; where he can look back on all he has been through with no pain, to which he does not dwell on the times of the past. He has already begun, is no longer raw, but he has much to go.

“Thank you.” is all Genji musters, the sensation of what a smile would feel like still deeply ingrained in his neural pathways, his soul alight yet at ease. “I wish the same for you.”

Zenyatta hums, low and full, and they both turn back to face the mountains as the sun begins to flicker over its large peaks. Dawn has finally caught up with them.

“Do you feel better now, Genji?” the omnic asks, his face plate still directed towards the mountains.

The cyborg sighs. “Much.”

“Good, for as much as I love your company, I do require a full recharge cycle.” Zenyatta confesses.

“Then go, Master, I do not mind if you leave.” Genji says, fully content with greeting the early morning himself.

“Very well, but only after the sunrise.”

“Master, that is not–”

“It is perfectly reasonable to wish to see it–”

“You need to recharge, Master, go do that–!”

“And what will you do if I do not move?”

“I–” Genji pauses, exasperation flickering over his features, “Then I’ll carry you back to your room.” he replies.

“Ah, but would you really deny an aging omnic the joy of seeing the sunrise? What if today was my last functioning day in this world, would you deny my seeing my last sunrise?”

Zenyatta’s laughter drifts as Genji lets out a started “Master!”, quick to wave his hand.

“I am teasing, Genji–!”

“You better be!” 

“Or, what, my student?” 

There comes that retort–that sly tone, so carefully slid forward. Genji stiffens, looking away, his thoughts still lagging behind him. “Or, uhm… I will have to get back to you on that,” he mumbles. 

Amused, the Monk chuckles as he rises from his seat, turning away from the mountains. “Very well, Genji. I shall see you when I am rested. You know where to find me.” 

Genji finds himself smiling, eyes closing as the warmth of the sun tickles his skin. “Yes, Master.” 


End file.
